


The View from the Landing Strip

by Devilc



Category: Friday Night Lights
Genre: Gen, Laundrylist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-11
Updated: 2010-01-11
Packaged: 2017-10-06 03:38:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devilc/pseuds/Devilc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mindy's got a very clear view of things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The View from the Landing Strip

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Fnl_Laundrylist Challenge #4, prompt #13— "Take any character that is not a main character (that means, no Lyla, no Tim, no Jason, no Coach, no Tami, no Julie, no Matt, no Tyra, no Landry and no Smash) and write about their life in Dillon as of 'Extended Families'."
> 
> Drawn in part from times spent with friend (whom I've sadly pretty much lost touch with) who works as a stripper in Las Vegas.

It's not true that every woman working as a stripper was molested as a child, or is hooked on drugs, or is stripping her way through college.

(Or is too dumb to do anything else.)

None of those things apply to Mindy -- or Mariah as she's known down at the Landing Strip.

None of her mother's boyfriends put a hand on her ... a few of them had kind of sniffed around when she got into high school, but Mindy put a stop to that right quick. Of course, she'd always dated jocks. Not because she really liked any of them -- they also fucking sucked in bed -- but because all of them could've beaten the snot out of Momma's flavor of the season.

Drugs? Yeah, she smoked a little weed now and again. Even did the occasional bump of crank. But other than that "wind me down" drink or three at the end of a long night? Not much else. And she wasn't going to get into that whole "it's not a problem because they're prescribed" thing. Nope. Her only prescriptions were for birth control pills and this nasal spray that kicked ass when the ragweed came in.

When she was about Tyra's age, Mindy took a good, hard look at her life and the options open to her and felt like a rabbit in the headlights of an on-coming truck. Her mother had just broken up with -- God, what was his name? Leroy? Yeah, it was Leroy -- and God, Momma was so pretty and such a fucking doormat. They were lucky to avoid eviction that month because Leroy had more or less spent the rent money getting lapdances.

And it hit Mindy as she watched her mother while she sat at the kitchen table and smoked and drank and cried, and frankly, scared the shit out of Tyra who was only 12 and thought it was the end of the world. The problem with Momma, Mindy realized, is that she kept giving it away for free. Some other woman had their rent money and Leroy (or was it Leon? Mindy's not quite sure, Momma's had an awful lot of men in her life) had a month's worth of hot meals, clean clothes, and sex.

A week after she turned 18, Mindy walked into the Landing Strip and asked about getting a job. She stripped down to her bikini for Ted, the manager, showed that she could shake her money maker in time to the music, and Ted told her about independent contracting ("You pay to dance, after we get our cut, it's all yours") and directed her to LaTanya, the "house mother".

And Mindy's been making good money ever since. Better than anything else she could make with a high school education.

It's fucking hard, dancing all night, and sucking up to fat, sweaty pigs like Buddy Garrity -- and pretending you like them, that they turn you on -- and yeah, a lot of her "clients" call Mindy a whore (ususally after she tells them they get a lapdance, not a lay) and she loathes getting oogled like ... like she's a damn sports car or something. Plus, you've got to buy and alter ('cause who wears off the rack?) all your own costumes, and on top of that, the kind of makeup it takes to look fabulous (and just a touch exotic, like the girl next door, only better) is pretty damn expensive. Tyra asks her why it can't be Maybelline, but get real, as hard as she works, Mindy _deserves _ to splurge on MAC. Mindy can tell the difference when she looks in the mirror, and if she can tell the difference, then her customers can -- not because they can see shit in the lights at the club -- but because Mindy knows she dances best and flirts more (which means more money) when she feels like a queen. And she can't do that wearing the ordinary crap you get at the drugstore.

And let Tyra pout and roll her eyes. Because hey, you know what? At the end of the day, it's Mindy paying the rent around here, and she'll be paying for Momma's damn emergency room bills, and sure, Tyra's got her good looks helping out at Applebees, but her tips? Please.

And Momma? Mindy chokes back a giggle as she chases her hangover away with a bloody mary. Frankly, she was surprised that Momma kept her job blowing Buddy as long as she did. It could be raining soup and Momma would have a fork ... maybe.

Besides, Momma's good looks are running out. Mindy knows that hers will, too, and she'll probably end up hitched to one of the dumb fat jocks she fucked back in high school (and oh how she loves to make them pay for lap dances and not have to put out, not unless she feels like it.) And yeah, Mindy's not quite certain what she'll do when she hits 40 (or starts looking 40) and has to stop dancing because the tips just don't come the way they used to, she _is _ certain of one thing:

In this life nobody rides for free and some people pay more than others.

And that's just the way of the world.


End file.
